None expected it
None prepared for it
But it was a dignified fall
And that prevented things
From falling apart.
A triumphant and glorious fall
It really was
And at a time
I thought all the pens in the nation
Would stop writing
Alas! I was wrong
The fall of the oak
Is not for the demise
Of the shrubs.
Creativity needs not to boast
I know a man
Who had abundance of it;
The truth needs not to hide
I know a man
Who exposed its nakedness.
Tell justice to mourn
There was a man
Who defended it;
If justice will not hearken
Report to humanity
To produce cover
Since it cannot deny
Not dining with the oak.
The pens would not stop writing;
The oaks would not stop growing;
The sun rises and falls
Other oaks would rise
And injustice and oppression
Would plead for mercy
At the feet of the pen
Whose edge is bluntly sharper
Than the sharpest of swords.
An oak has fallen
Not all oaks
A pen has disappeared
But more pens will appear
To give a revelation
To the genesis.
*In honour of prolific writer, Chinua Achebe (The oak).
Written by: Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
